A Broken Inheritance

Chapter 39: The Tale of Alice Todd

She had never thought much of it before.

But now, as she stood beneath the weight of Tom's expectant gaze, the air thick with magic and something darker, she thought of Alice's hands—always smudged with ink from late-night study sessions, her mind always running ahead of her, never content with easy answers. She thought of how those hands, now limp at her sides, had once held a quill as she scribbled notes onto parchment, her brows furrowed in thought. How they had, just once, reached for Anastasia's arm to steady her after a particularly brutal deflection in practice. The touch had been fleeting, absentminded, a reflex. But now, Anastasia could feel it like a ghost against her skin.

Alice Todd had been kind.

And here, in this room, kindness meant nothing at all.

Tom stood at the head of the table, his expression one of mild curiosity, as if he were merely observing a particularly dull lecture. The others in attendance—figures draped in dark robes, their faces illuminated by the flickering candlelight—remained silent, waiting.

Tom's gaze flickered to her, and his lips curled.

"You know this one, don't you?"

Anastasia's heart pounded, but her face remained carefully composed. "She was in my dueling seminar," she said smoothly. Her voice did not waver, but it did not feel like her own. "Bright. Talented."

Tom exhaled softly, shaking his head as if disappointed. "And yet, so stupid." His gaze shifted back to Alice. "Curious thing, isn't it?"

Anastasia forced herself to breathe, steady and slow. "What did she do?"

Tom turned slightly, regarding her with faint amusement. "What don't they do?" he mused. He gestured lazily toward the girl. "Miss Todd here was quite the ambitious little thing. She's been sneaking off to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, playing spy." His smirk widened. "Gathering information. Asking questions."

Alice made a soft sound, somewhere between a whimper and a breathless sob.

Anastasia's stomach twisted.

Tom sighed, feigning disappointment. "You would think," he mused, "that after all this time, they'd learn not to meddle."

He stepped forward, drawing his wand from the sleeve of his robe with a slow, deliberate motion. "But I suppose we must continue to educate them."

He turned to Anastasia then, his dark eyes gleaming.

"Would you care to do the honours?"

The words settled over her like ice.

She did not move.

Tom raised an eyebrow, expectant. "Cruciatus, Anastasia. Or are you suddenly sentimental?"

So that's what this was. She had hesitated on arrival and so Tom, ever so calculating, had felt the need to put her allegiance— no, her commitment to the test. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, but she did not hesitate. She couldn't.

Slowly, she reached for her wand.

She had done this before. She had told herself it did not matter. That it was mercy, in a way. That they were all doomed the moment Tom set his eyes on them. The moment they entered this cursed estate—just like her.

She had done it before in a dissociative haze, her body moving while her mind retreated to a place where nothing was real, where she did not have to acknowledge what she was doing.

But never to someone she knew.

Never someone so young.

Anastasia raised her wand, forcing her expression into something impassive, something practiced. It was muscle memory by now.